


Where The Wild Roses Grow

by zouisprince



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Minor Character Death, lots of italics and book references, mental trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouisprince/pseuds/zouisprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn travels around on his motorcycle collecting nothing but bad memories. Louis, on the other hand, owns a little bookshop in the heart of a small town. Leather jackets and dusty books are not the most perfect match, but they find inspiration on each other and maybe that's all Zayn really needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where The Wild Roses Grow

**Author's Note:**

> [This picture](http://zouisprince.tumblr.com/post/98579374071/louistomlinsoxn-x) was my main inspiration for this fic and the idea just popped up on my head from the moment I first saw it (even though I pictured Zayn with his current long hair while writing this piece) and I just had to write it. I literally wrote this whole thing in a single afternoon, and I thought it would be nice to share with all of you.
> 
> This fic is entirely AU. Title from the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDpnjE1LUvE) by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds (featuring the amazing Kylie Minogue), but the songs that really inspired me for this fanfic were Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles, Fear & Loathing by Marina & The Diamonds and (weirdly) The Breaking of the Fellowship by Howard Shore, and they're all amazing so I'd really recommend you to listen all of them.
> 
> And thanks to the sweet anon who pointed all my errors in this so I could fix them, you're awesome :D
> 
> Have a nice reading!

The sound of Zayn's motorcycle roaring through the streets is the only thing breaking the palpable, agonizing silence known for the residents of that little town. Zayn himself is not able to hear how obscene the sound coming from beneath him is, not with the violent wind hushing past his ears making his hair flutter messily against his forehead. He's not wearing a helmet, probably forgotten at the dinner he was working at not even twenty four hours earlier, and in the rush of leaving the only thing he was able to grab was his bag full of dirty clothes and all the money from the tip jar. It's not much though, only $63 and his previous payment from the dinner (and some crumpled pennies) but he's not in a position to complain. He hopes it's enough until he can find another job; otherwise he'll have to sleep on a random bench at the little park he just drove by. It's not an appealing thought.

As he keeps driving by precarious houses and abandoned buildings he can't help but feel a little bit lost. He has no idea where he is right now: after he left the dinner he just climbed on his old motorcycle and started driving away as fast as he could, not paying attention to where he was going or what he was planning to do next. It's nothing unusual to him, getting away from places, but in that maze of empty streets painted by the pale orange of the sunset he just feels like this place was not made for him. He loathes everything his eyes lay on, from the brick houses with chimneys expelling black smoke into the air to the rusty mail boxes by the curb, all of them probably empty. It's not his ideal scenario, not at all.

It's almost dark when he starts to feel his motorcycle vibrating violently under him. It's not a strange occurrence since he bought it from an old man who used to collect second hand items on a barn in the middle of nowhere. Despite all he's very proud of his old Harley Davidson, his only true companion. He looks down for a brief moment with a frown on his face, sighing at the sight of the front wheel trembling violently. He knows that _that's_ it’s his queue to stop unless he wants to end up with his face splattered against the cold pavement. He drives for another minute until he finds a parking point right in front of a small house that stands two stores high, as silent as the rest of the town.

When his feet covered by worn out combat boots finally touch the ground it's already dark, and the streetlights are setting a weak light upon the desert sidewalks. Zayn looks around, clutching his bag tightly around his shoulders, but there's nothing to see. His eyes travel back to the little house in front of him, the streetlight illuminating a peeled header impossible to read. There's an _open_ sign hanging in the front door, and he steps closer trying to take a look at the showcase but it's too dark and he's not able to see anything through the dirty glass. His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, and he looks at both ends of the street one more time before he zips up his leather jacket and takes a deep breath, taking a strong grip at the doorknob and stepping into the store.

The bell above his head jingles an unusual tune as he enters and he immediately coughs as a wave of dust invades his nose going straight to his lungs, making it difficult to breathe for a moment. He tries to take a look around the store but his vision is blurry with tears, and he rubs them away before he takes a look around one more time. The place looks like a mess, replete with wobbly-looking bookshelves completely filled by books. The dim light from the steel lanterns hanging on the walls are the only thing illuminating the place, and his nose cringes at the smell of mold in the air. He takes some hesitant steps, raising tiny clouds of dust from the carpet as he walks looking around the room.

It's just in that almost dark room that he realizes it's been ages since he read an actual book. He used to read lots of them back in high school, some of them just for the pleasure of reading and some others for school assignments. It feels like a complete different version of him, his high school one, and since he left his hometown he hasn’t been able to sit down long enough to read a book: between riding his bike and running from place to place it's not like he can stop long enough to enjoy a story written in four hundred pages. He feels a pang on his chest as the memories start to stumble from the corners of his mind, and he tries to brush them off before he steps closer to a random bookshelf, reading the titles of the books displayed on their spines.

He's not looking for a specific book, and he hums as his eyes scan over the bookshelf: some of the books don’t have a proper cover and their pages are joined together only by the sewing that remained. Others have peeled titles or ripped covers, making it impossible to read their names. The majority of them are pretty damaged, with beaten corners and yellowish pages. Zayn keeps looking for the good ones until his eyes lands on one of his favorite books from when he was just a teenager. He reaches for the book, slipping it from its place on the bookshelf and blowing the dust from its cover. He used to have a copy of _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_ at home, his one filled with notes about his favorite characters, clues given by the author and sometimes he used to even draw bits of his favorite parts on the bottom of the page. It's one of the few good memories he has, and he smiles down at the book timidly.

A soft noise behind him brings him back to reality, and he shakes his head slightly before he turns around, his heart almost shooting from his mouth when he's faced with a young man standing right behind him. Zayn jumps a little at the sudden appearance, and his heart is still beating like crazy against his chest, but he calms down a little as he takes in the man's looks: he's wearing an oversized sweater with a dream catcher stamped on and his legs covered by tight brown trousers covered in weird stains. He has a gorgeous face as well, with sharp cheekbones, pink thin lips and eyes of a deep shade of blue. His head is covered by a mess of caramel-colored hair, with a fringe covering most part of his forehead. He's looking at Zayn with an expectant look, his hands hidden on his back.

"Can I help you?" The man asks with a soft low voice, a little bit hoarse due to lack of use, probably.

"Hum," Zayn mumbles, looking around nervously and then back to the man in front of him. "I-I was, hum, looking for help actually."

"Looking for help?" The other man inquires, his eyebrows rising until they get lost under his fringe. "Something related to _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_?

"Oh, no." Zayn says, shaking his head as he suddenly realizes he's still holding the book. "It's just–I’m new around here and I was wondering if you could recommend me some cheap place where I could stay the night?"

The blue-eyed man nods slightly before he turns his back to Zayn and walks all the way to the back of the shop, Zayn quickly following him. It's not a big place, but it's so dark and there are so many bookshelves that he could easily get lost if he was left alone in this place. They walk until they reach a floppy counter so dusty that Zayn's fingertips would probably turn black if he rubbed them against the mahogany surface. The man slips behind the counter and looks at Zayn with mysterious eyes, giving him a once over before he clears his throat.

"There's a really cheap lodging just by the end of the street," He says, organizing a heavy pile of books over the counter. "The owner is a really nice lady. She'll take good care of you."

"Right," Zayn nods, his mouth falling shut as he watches the man in front of him organizing the books. His hands are a little bit smaller than Zayn's calloused ones, and his fingertips touch the books like they're the most delicate things in the universe. A soft sigh leaves his lips when he takes a much damaged book on his hands, taking a look at the cover completely stained in a black substance. Zayn had never seen someone treat books with such adoration, and he can't contain the tiny smile that appears on his face.

"Are you taking that one?"

The soft voice breaks Zayn away from his own thoughts once again, and he shakes his head before he looks up and finds expectant blue eyes looking back at him. He's confused for a moment before he remembers he's still holding the dusty copy of _The Yiddish Policemen's Union,_ and he looks down at the book before he chuckles nervously.

"Hum, yeah sure. How much?" Zayn asks, motioning for his back pocket grabbing his wallet.

"Oh, don't worry," The man brushes him off, giving him a tiny smile. "You can take it."

"I can pay, you know?" Zayn is not offended, but he's sure this dusty, ripped book can’t cost that much.

"You just asked me for a cheap place to stay mate. I'm not going to ask for your money."

Zayn looks at him with narrowed eyes, looking for traits of pity on his face. There's none, though: the man is giving him a tiny smile that doesn't reach his eyes, but it's still kind and somehow comforting. He can't remember the last time someone smiled at him like that, but he's sure it's been a long time. He looks from the man's face to the book trapped under his grip one more time, conflicted between taking his generous offer or politely denying the book.

"Look," the man says, Zayn's attention turning to him one more time. "If you feel that bad about taking this book for free there's one thing you can give me in exchange."

"And what's that?"

"A story."

Zayn wasn't expecting that. At first he thought the man would ask him a favor, something really trick that would require some effort from Zayn and if that was the case he would refuse it for sure. A book is not that worthy. But he never thought the man would ask for a story, something so simple and so... ordinary. He raises his eyebrows at him, a small chuckle coming from his mouth.

"A story?"

"Yes. I'm sure someone who wears a leather jacket with _Hell On Wheels_ written on the back has lots of them to tell." The man says with a smirk, and Zayn can detect a mischievous tone on his voice.

Zayn is not sure if the man is mocking him or something, but he smiles at him anyway. "That's not an exciting story, to be honest."

"I'm sure it is."

"I bought it on a thrift shop."

The man behind the counter laughs sweetly at him. He drops the book he’s holding on the pile next to him and shakes his head at Zayn, looking completely amused.

"You're quite a character," He says, tapping his fingertips around the counter. They don't get dirty from the dust, Zayn notices. "Take the book, okay? I'm sure you'll have some fun with it."

"Wait, that wasn't even an actual story." Zayn tells him, feeling a little bit confused all of sudden. Is this man _really_ mocking him?

"It's not every day that someone makes me laugh," The man in front of him shrugs, taking the pile of books on his arms and walking from behind the counter. "If you have more stories like that one I'd be glad to listen to them. You can take as many books you want."

"I'm not staying," Zayn says, looking as the man moves to a bookshelf nearby. "I'll be gone by the morning."

The man gives him an exquisite look before he nods, turning to look at the bookshelf in front of him one more time. He starts to organize the books side by side with his back turned to Zayn.

"It was nice to meet you, then. Good luck."

"Thanks," Zayn says, walking backwards to the front of the shop. "For the book and for everything."

"Anytime."

Zayn walks slower than usual, taking in the bookshelves filled to the brim and the dusty carpet as he motions for the front door. The idea of leaving the bookshop feels strange, like he's safe from the rest of the world inside of that little dark room. Zayn went through so much since he was seventeen, since he was marked by tragedy. He had to learn how to be an adult too soon, and he gave up on so many things because he simply had to. While most teenagers would graduate and go to college, enjoy themselves or just look for happiness and contentment in general Zayn was never able to do that. He just ran. He ran away from his hometown, from all his nightmares and from the life he used to have before everything turned into ashes. And since then he never felt as protected as he feels inside of that bookshop.

When he finally reaches the front door, hand gripping the cold doorknob tightly, he turns around one more time, looking at the man still standing by the bookshelf, taking the books from his pile and organizing them.

"I never asked your name." Zayn says, his voice loud enough to be heard on the other side of the room.

The man looks up at him and Zayn isn't able to read his expression since half of his face is hidden by shadows. His hand falls from the book he was putting on the already full bookshelf, and by the tone of his voice Zayn is sure he's smiling.

"I'm Louis."

"I’m Zayn. Nice to meet you too, Louis." Zayn says before he opens the door and walks into the night, the cold wind licking his face and shoving his hair against his eyes. But the wind isn't the only thing making him shiver: he kind of misses the warmth of the odd bookshop, but he tries to shove it off as he walks down the sidewalk. Louis said that the lodging was right by the end of the street so he decides to leave his motorcycle parked in the front of the bookshop and just walk there.

The streets are as empty as they were earlier, and with the wind whistling against his ear and the moonlight setting creepy shadows against the bent buildings covered by ivy he can't help but feel a little creeped out. Gladly he doesn't have to walk even two minutes until he reaches the lodging, a cozy looking house that stands three stories high. There's a small header hanging above the front door that says _Lost Arms_ , and he feels a little bit hesitant before he walks in.

The place is even smaller than Louis' shop. The lobby consists in a room as dark as the bookshop with two dismantled couches and a pile of old newspapers lying in a far corner. There's a counter with an old lady behind of it, and she looks at him with a toothless smile and a face full of wrinkles.

"Welcome dear," She says when he walks closer to the counter, watching her rub a wet cloth against the surface. "What can I help you with?"

"Hum, I'm looking for a place to stay?" Zayn mutters, looking at the old lady with a little bit of distrust: her grimy silver hair is pulled up in a messy bun and it takes a moment for her to process Zayn's words. He's sure that a person that old shouldn't be running a lodging, but he smiles politely at her anyway.

"Of course, love." She replies, turning around and picking up a heavy record book from a table behind her. She opens the book and turns the pages until she reaches the very end of it, turning it around so he can sign his information. "Just write down your name and ID, okay? I'll fetch ya a key."

Zayn nods before she walks away from him, watching her until she reaches a big wood panel with some keys hanging from it. He looks down at the book she gave him and takes the plastic pen on his hand, writing down his name in a quick scrawl. He doesn't bother to fill the ID space, and he doubts that the woman will notice anyway so he lays the pen on the counter and waits for the her to come back, bringing a small key in her soft palm.

"Here you go, darling. That'll be $10." She says, giving him the key. He raises his eyebrows at her because _there's no way a night at a lodging would be that cheap_ , but he doesn't say anything as he hands her the cash. "Have a lovely night."

He nods at her before he walks away, walking in a tiny corridor and looking for his room. The key ring has a huge brass number _203,_ so he takes the stairs to the second floor, finally finding his door. He's not surprised with the tiny room, a little bit dusty with moonlight flooding in. It's enough for now, far better than the basement he used to sleep on his days at the dinner or the extremely little cubicle with no bed at all that he lived on his days at the gas station. He can see a bed from his spot on the doorway, and that's enough for him. He drops his bag full of clothes to the floor and walks into the dirty bathroom, with only a shower and a sink.

After he takes a freezing shower (it's not like he has another option) he puts on the same pair of black briefs he was wearing before and nothing else. He climbs into bed and under the itchy blankets, welcoming the warmth they can provide. He sighs for a moment, thinking about how his life went from having a family and having a safe place to running around the country collecting nothing but empty memories and not so memorable people. Before he can dig up too deep into his memories he decides to take a look on the book he took from Louis' bookshop and distract himself from all the unpleasant memories.

The room doesn't have a lamp, but the moonlight coming from outside is enough for him to distinguish the words on the cover. As much as he loved _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_ he doesn't remember anything about the plot that much, after all it's been ages since he read the book for the last time. He opens the book with shaky fingers, breathing in the smell of old paper and mothballs, but he doesn't mind it. What really gets his attention are the words printed on the first page of the book, making his brows frown with confusion.

 

**The Great Gatsby**

**_by F. Scott Fitzgerald_ **

 

 "What the–?" He murmurs to himself, closing the book and looking at the cover one more time. It's definitely _The Yiddish Policemen's Union,_ and even the back cover tells a little bit about the plot and Michael Chabon, the author. He opens the book one more time, just to make sure that the shadows coming from outside are not playing tricks on his eyes, but the words are still there. _The Great Gatsby_.

Zayn examines the book one more time until he realizes the sewing thread loosely attaching the cover to the pages, like someone did it in a hurry. It was a terrible work, and Zayn rolls his eyes before he sets the book down and lays his head on the thin pillow, looking at the ceiling above him.

He decides he will go back to the bookshop first thing in the morning. And with that promise his eyes fall shut, drifting into a dreamless sleep, his memories buried deep down in the far corners of his mind not allowing him to be hunted while his eyes are close

 

❀❀

 

When he finally wakes up on the next morning he doesn't spare that much time on his tiny bedroom. He brushes his teeth quickly, putting on a pair of tight black jeans and a black jumper, ignoring the bothering smell of his own clothes as he walks down the stairs and into the lobby. There's only a lonely woman sipping something from a fancy tea cup sitting all by herself on one of the couches. He gives her a once over before he walks by the counter, giving the old lady a quick good morning before he walks out of the lodging, humming pleased at the warmth provided by the pale rays of light coming from above.

He gets surprised to see people walking down the street, even though is not a crowd. There are mothers walking with their children and some guys wearing tweed suits and holding suitcases running to work. It's comforting knowing that the small town is not as deserted as he thought.

He walks down the street until he reaches the bookshop one more time, the fake book pressed tightly under his arm. His motorcycle is still there, and he sighs relieved before he turns to the bookshop and walks in, the strong smell of mold not bothering him as much as it did on the previous night. He still sneezes anyway.

The lanterns hanging on the walls are not alight, but the sun coming from outside is enough to light up the bookshop. Zayn walks all the way to the back until he reaches the counter where Louis' currently sitting behind of, a cup of tea in one of his hands and a coverless book in the other, a pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose and his caramel hair hidden by a loose grey beanie only allowing his fringe to poke out. He doesn't take his attention away from the book as Zayn steps closer to him, taking another sip of his tea instead.

"I thought you were leaving today?" Louis asks, his voice sounding somehow bored. He still hasn’t taken his eyes away from his book, and that startles Zayn a little bit.

"You gave me the wrong book." Zayn says without answering his question, laying the fake copy of _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_ down on the counter. Louis raises his eyes away from the book he's currently holding and studies Zayn with a weird expression.

"I did not."

"Yes, you did," Zayn replies, opening the book and pointing at the title. "Here, _The Great Gatsby_. That's not the book I wanted to read."

"And why not? _Gatsby_ is an amazing story." Louis says, only his eyes being visible above the rim of the cup. His glasses are a little bit steamed, making his blue eyes almost invisible for Zayn.

"I read it once while I was in school and it was really boring," Zayn explains, sliding the book towards Louis. "Why did you do it, though?"

"What?"

"Changed the cover? Put _Gatsby_ inside of _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_?"

Louis seems to think a little bit before he lays his cup of tea down, looking at Zayn with a sheepish smile. "Such a good book as _Gatsby_ doesn't deserve to not have a cover."

Zayn shots him a puzzled look, his eyes going from the book in front of him to Louis. Since yesterday he thought that the owner of this tiny bookshop was a little bit weird, but now, listening to his explanation for such an odd act it just confirms his theory about the guy.

Louis smiles a little at the look of confusion on Zayn's face, and continues. "When I first found this copy of _Gatsby_ the cover was already gone. I looked for it on the trash bin, but it wasn't there. And it was a pity because I don't see why someone would throw away such a good book as _The Great Gatsby_. Anyway I brought this book here and on the same day a terrible storm came and ruined some of my books. You see there's a pretty huge water leak over there," He stops for a moment to point at something right behind Zayn's head. "And some of my books got really wet. _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_ was one of them, it was completely ruined. I tried to dry it but I couldn't make it readable again, so I decided to rip the cover from it and attach it to _The Great Gatsby_. If I couldn't save one book I was going to do my best to save another one, and let's be honest, _The Great Gatsby_ looks great with this cover doesn't it?"

Zayn eyes fall to the cover of _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_ one more time. Since he was a teenager it was one of his favorite book covers, especially because he decided to read it just because of the amazing artwork. It's mysterious, it has personality, and Zayn loved it. But this cover doesn't fit _The Great Gatsby_ at all.

"You could have warned me, though," Zayn says, looking up at Louis. "That I was taking the wrong book, that is."

"Why would I? There's nothing better than a little surprise every now and then, even if it comes in the format of a book that you think it's something but it end ups being other completely different."

He stays silent for a while, letting Louis' words sink in. Yes, some surprises are good, like a surprise party or a surprise kiss. Zayn had both of them, and they were experiences that he would never forget. But some surprises are even more memorable, the bad ones, and those are the ones that stick with you until the very end. Surprises that burn like fire, suffocating you with bitterness and making it impossible for you to think or act. These kinds of surprises are not good at all.

"And besides, _The Yiddish Policemen's Union_ is not that good anyway."

Zayn snaps himself out of his thoughts by the sound of Louis' voice. He looks at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"You can't be serious," Zayn laughs, looking at Louis' amused face. "What are _you_ reading, then?"

Louis looks back at the coverless book on his hand before he lifts his eyes up at Zayn one more time.

" _A Murder Is Announced_." He says with a little bit of pride on his voice.

"Agatha Cristie?" Zayn asks, and Louis nods eagerly before he takes another sip of his mug. "That's a shitty book."

Louis swallows the liquid with a loud squeak, his eyes filling with tears from the pain on his throat. "How dare you? This is one of the greatest books of all time."

"Please, it's one of the most predictable books I've ever read," Zayn tells him, leaning against the counter. "It was so obvious that Charlotte was the killer."

"You're so lucky that I've already read this book a million times," Louis says with a small chuckle, shooting him an amused grin. "Otherwise I'd have killed you myself for spoiling such an important fact from this book."

"You wouldn't," Zayn laughs, giving Louis his most endearing smile. It's been a while since he laughed so easily around someone, and the feeling of protection that the little bookshop gives him only adds to his current aura, so carefree and just unaware of the world outside. It's hard to think about his story when he's surrounded by another million ones printed on yellowish, dented pages.

"You don't know me at all," Louis simply says, closing the coverless book in front of him. "I _should_ kill you for insulting one of my favorite books, though."

"But it's true, how can you enjoy it so much?"

"Because it's good," Louis shrugs. "You should just try to appreciate it from a different angle, you know? A different perspective. Everything is enjoyable; you just have to figure it out _how_ to enjoy it."

Zayn looks at the blue-eyed boy with a little bit of awe on his eyes, trying to understand what he just said. Maybe living surrounded by books turned Louis into a pseudo-philosophe as well, and his words sound really meaningful.

Zayn nods at him anyway, even though he doesn't agree with his words. Not everything can be enjoyed.

 

❀❀

 

It was never Zayn's intention to stick around Silvervale (thanks to Louis he finally learns the name of the town). The town is too small, and everyone seems to know everyone so, of course, he turns into the main subject among the town residents. He can feel people staring at him as he walks from Louis' bookshop to the _Lost Arms_ and the other way around, but he doesn't mind. It's an unconscious decision, but he realizes it was about time for him to stop running from his past at least a little bit, take a break and just rest. And that town right in the middle of nowhere seems like the perfect place for him to hide from his memories.

"How's Mrs. Horan, then?" Louis asks on Zayn's third day at Silvervale. They're both locked inside the bookshop, as usual, and Zayn is sitting on a chair by the counter, Louis himself sitting behind of it.

"Who?" Zayn wonders distracted, his eyes fixed on the book in front of him. He decided to give another chance to _A Murder Is Announced_ ; much to Louis' amusement, and he's now totally emerged by the book.

"The lady who owns the _Lost Arms_ lodging," Louis explains, shaking his head slightly at the man in front of him. "I can't believe you haven't even bothered to ask the lady her name."

"It's not like I've been around for too long," Zayn rolls his eyes, taking them from the book in front of him. "Besides, I've spent the majority of my last forty-eight hours here. It's not like I have time to hang out with her and eat cookies."

"You haven't been around for too long but you still know my name." Louis says with a tiny smile.

"That's– It's different, okay?" Zayn huffs, turning his attention back to the book.

Louis gives him a fond smile before he steps from the back of the counter and walks all the way to a door somehow hidden by curtains behind the chair Louis’ sitting on. That door leads to Louis' small flat above the bookshop, and Zayn doesn't even bother to follow him. He keeps reading his book, moving just to turn the page every now and then, until Louis comes back with two steamy cups of black tea. He takes his spot on his chair and lays one of the cups down near Zayn's hand. Zayn lifts his eyes from the book before he offers a smile to Louis, taking the cup on his own hands.

"Thanks," He says, taking a timid sip.

"You're welcome," Louis replies, taking a sip himself. "So, how is she?"

It takes a moment for Zayn to realize who Louis is talking about again. He takes another sip before he lays the cup down, shrugging slightly. "She looks fine, she offers me muffins and cookies every time she sees me. She looks like a fine lady."

"She is," Louis confirms, a sad expression taking over his face. "You know what people say, tragedy follows those who are the brightest."

The words startle Zayn a little bit. He looks up at Louis and watches how his eyes suddenly turned so distant, even empty. The words also sting a little bit, making Zayn's heart clench under his chest. He closes the book in front of him before the sweat on his palm can ruin the already delicate pages, clearing his throat.

"What do you mean?" Zayn asks.

Louis sighs before he lays his cup down as well, crossing his arms above the counter. "Her son died a couple of months ago. It's been almost a year, actually. That's why she's so kind to people who go to her lodging. She can recognize the ones who are travelling alone, the ones who need care. And she dedicates her life to help the ones who are in need. But she, like all of us, is crumbling from inside even though she acts with a smile upon her face."

"How do you know that?" Zayn wonders out loud, looking at Louis with wide eyes.

"Once she wanted a copy of _The Wind in the Willows_ but she forgot her purse at the lodging. So I gave her the book in exchange of a story."

Zayn raises his eyebrows at Louis, surprised by his statement. It's so weird how he gives his books away and only takes miserable, ordinary words in return. He wonders how the blue-eyed man can keep his shop open if everything people give him are stories instead of money.

"So that's a common thing then? You give people books and they give you stories?"

"I take what they can give me. Some of them give me money and I'm glad when they do, but listening to stories of real characters, real people who lived out there and saw things I didn't and experienced things I haven't is way more satisfying." Louis explains, his eyes now shining with glee.

"Are you that satisfied to listen to sad stories?"

"Even the sad stories can be beautiful, Zayn," Louis simply says, taking a random book from under the counter and opening it in front of him. "And sometimes, the main characters from these stories are the most fascinating ones."

Zayn nods, his eyes falling to his own lap. Louis falls silent once he focus on the book he starts reading, and Zayn takes sips of cold tea while he thinks about Louis' words. He doesn't agree with him again, but he still nods. As usual.

That day when he finally comes back to the _Lost Arms_ and spots Mrs. Horan standing behind the counter he walks straight to her and wraps her with his long, lean arms. He doesn't say anything, and she doesn't seems to understand at first but she hugs him back, leaning her head against his chest.

It's enough. For both of them.

 

❀❀

 

"I'm glad you asked me for help, your clothes _really_ need a washing."

They're both standing in the middle of a laundry room a couple of blocks away from Louis' bookshop. The man is now sitting on a bench, inspecting the dirty clothes inside of Zayn's bag with a cringed nose. Zayn is not offended at all: his clothes are really in need of a washing. Urgently.

The laundry room has lots of washing machines surrounding them, and it's by far the cleanest place he visited on Silvervale so far. The surfaces are shining and Zayn can even see his reflection on one of the washing machines: it's been some time since he last faced a mirror and now looking at his own image reflected on the _inox_ surface he can see how his hair is screaming for a cut or how his jaw is covered by thin stubble. Even his appearance looks different from how he used to be, but he doesn't mind.

"Zayn, are you there?"

Louis voice pushes him away from his thoughts, and he blinks dumbly at his own reflection before he turns away to look at the man in front of him. Louis looks good as usual, wearing a pair of tight mustard jeans and a grey jumper. His feet are bare at the moment (that's because he shoved his shoes inside of a washing machine, which is now doing weird sounds at the far corner) and his long hair is cascading messily over his forehead and eyes.

"Yes, sorry. What were you saying?"

Louis rolls his eyes, stepping closer to where Zayn is standing next to a washing machine. "I was saying you just have to put your clothes inside, press the button and the machine will do the rest. It's not that hard, is it?"

"I guess not." Zayn says, picking an armful of his clothes and shoving them inside of one of the washing machines. He doesn't have lots of clothes, so they fit inside of one washing machine easily. Louis watches him closely, clapping his hands when Zayn finally pushes all of his clothes inside and presses the button, the machine immediately filling with water and soap.

"Good job, I knew you could do it." Louis grins at him, making Zayn roll his eyes at him.

"Shut up."

Zayn turns his back to the man and walks to the front of the shop, looking to the street through the glass windows. It's a beautiful day outside, and he wishes he had a camera to take a picture of the sun shining behind the distant hills outside of town. Unfortunately he forgot his camera at a church a long time ago when he left the place in a hurry after he took all the money from the donation box. He reckons that wasn’t one of his best moments.

He feels a gently tap at his shoulder and he turns around to face Louis, who's looking at him with an apologetic look. Zayn looks at him with raised eyebrows until he looks down at the hand Louis is reaching out.

He's holding a picture. An old, damaged picture. The image is in black and white, and it's showing six people, a family, standing right in front of a big house. The man and the woman looking to the camera are smiling so brightly they can feel their happiness coming from the ripped picture. The other four people on the picture are children, laughing and probably playing, not paying that much attention to the camera in front of them. They look happy. Unbreakable, even.

Louis takes in Zayn's expression while he stares at the picture on his hand, smiling softly.

"Where did you get this?" Zayn asks a little bit harshly, taking the picture from Louis' hand.

"I guess it fell from the pocket of one of your trousers," Louis says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He's looking down at his own bare feet, shifting his position awkwardly. "I didn't mean to snoop or something, I'm sorry."

Zayn looks at the photo one more time before he shoves it in his back pocket, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before he looks at Louis' expectant face.

"I know, that's okay." Zayn murmurs, trying to smile down at the man but his muscles betray him. "It's just a picture."

"Who are they, then?" Louis asks, biting his bottom lip right in the moment the words fall from his mouth.

Zayn gives him a sad look before he walks away from the window, leaning against "his" washing machine and crossing his arms against his chest, copying Louis' previous pose. The machine is humming softly as it washes his clothes, sending vibrations all over his body. Louis follows him, sitting on the bench right in front of him and looking up at him, patiently waiting.

"It's my family," Zayn finally says, looking at the wall on the other side of the room. For some reason he refuses to look at the man in front of him, keeping his eyes from meeting blue ones. "Those are my parents and sisters."

"They look nice." Louis whispers, earning a smile from Zayn.

"Yeah, they are." Zayn mumbles, more for him than to Louis. He looks down at the man and feels something warming up inside of him as Louis flashes him a huge smile. It's not like he's expecting more than what Zayn already explained him, so he just stands and takes Zayn's hand on his own.

"You're nice as well."

"Thanks."

The sound of the washing machine cleaning Zayn’s clothes is the only thing breaking the silence after that.

 

❀❀

 

It's a couple of days later when Zayn decides he wants to stay in the town. Not forever, but just a little longer than he usually would. His money is almost over, though, so he starts to look for a job around the town, with Louis helping him whenever he can. He slowly becomes the closest thing from a friend Zayn had for a long time, and although the wise thing to do would be push Louis away from him he can't bring himself to it. Being around him is easy, so he keeps him.

Every time Zayn grabs a book from the shop Louis asks for a story. It's not like Zayn still needs to pay for the books he reads, but it feels like an agreement between them. It doesn't bother Zayn, so he gladly does as Louis asks.

He tells him about the time he worked at a movie theater and met a guy who asked him to find out if his wife was cheating on him, and the time he won a prize of best amateur picture but didn't show at the ceremony because this guy he was owing lots of money would be there. No matter what story he tells Louis always listens with a smile on his face, sometimes laughing or sometimes just nodding. He's just a story appreciator, and Zayn's stories are the ones the appreciates the most.

It's only a week later when he finally finds a job. It's a small food shop owned by a fat, old man called Mr. Davidson. He's very fond of Louis, and when he finds out that Zayn is Louis' friend he eagerly accepts him on his shop. It's not a hard job, to be honest: the only thing Zayn does is move boxes full of fruits around the shop, leaving it to Mr. Davidson’s wife to organize them on the shelves. It requires strength, but not really some kind of effort.

By the end of the day Mr. Davidson gives him $12, and he thanks him eagerly before he walks away from the shop heading to Louis' bookshop. The sun is already going down, and the cool wind is ghosting against his bare arms pleasantly. The streets are empty as they usually get by the end of the day. It doesn't bother him anymore as it used to when he first arrived in Silvervale. Actually, the quiet feeling that surrounds him at the early nights gives him a sensation of peace and calm.

He arrives at the bookshop and gives a little tap on the leather seat of his motorcycle before he walks into the dark room, the weird smell not bothering him anymore as well. The lanterns are burning against the walls, and he walks all the way to the counter to find a man who's definitely not Louis: he's wearing a big black coat shielding almost his entire frame. His face is white as milk, and his lips red as blood. His messy, chocolate hair is wrapped by a green scarf around his forehead that brings out the color of his eyes even more.

"Hi, what can I do for you?" He asks with a cheerful tone.

"Who are you?" It's Zayn's answer, looking at the man in front of him with narrowed eyes.

"Who are _you_?"

Zayn crosses his arms in front of him in a defensive way. "I'm Zayn."

"Oh, so you're Zayn?" The man smiles at him, walking closer to where Zayn is standing. "Louis told me a lot about you. I'm Harry."

Before Zayn can answer his greetings Louis comes stumbling from the door behind the curtains, holding a tray filled with warm muffins and two steamy cups of tea. He lays them on the counter and his eyes land on Zayn, a huge smile creeping out of his face immediately.

"Zayn! I didn't know you were here already," Louis says, walking past Harry and towards him, reaching out to squeeze Zayn's sweaty arms. "You look tired. Let me grab you a cup of tea, okay? Eat something."

Zayn nods before Louis walks away from him, leaving him alone with Harry once again. Zayn flashes him a tiny smile before he walks to the counter and grabs one of the muffins, taking a tiny bite. The muffin is a little bit burnt and the taste of flour is as predominant as the chocolate but he doesn't complain: he didn't realize he was hungry until then. He can feel Harry's eyes burning holes on his back but he doesn't say anything.

Louis comes back not even thirty seconds later, bringing a cup of tea for Zayn as well. The man thanks him eagerly before he takes a sip of the strong liquid, humming at the way it warms him from inside.

"So, how was your first day at work?"

"Nice, Mr. Davidson is a really cool man." Zayn says, taking another sip of tea.

"So you're working at Mr. Davidson's shop?" This time Harry is the one who asks, stepping closer to the counter and taking the only cup of tea left on the tray.

"Hum, yeah," Zayn mumbles, looking at Louis with an unsure look. Louis nods at him, almost like he's giving him confirmation that Harry is okay, so he continues. "If it wasn't for Louis I'd never get the job, though. And the payment is good."

"Don't be ridiculous," Louis says, his cheeks turning pink at the compliment. Zayn smiles to himself at the sight of an embarrassed Louis. "He'd give you the job anyway. He's a really nice man."

"Yeah, he is." Harry agrees, smiling at Zayn. “And his apples are the best around here.”

They keep eating the slightly burned muffins until they get interrupted by the sound of the bell from the front door jingling his tune. A woman with dark long hair and an imposing frame walks in, and Louis rushes from behind the counter, flashing her his most enchanting smile.

"Good evening, Mrs. Calder. What can I do for you?"

The pair walks away to one of the furthest bookshelves, and Zayn turns around to take another muffin from the tray. Harry is watching him closely again, his eyes never leaving Zayn, and when the man takes his last sip of tea he bangs the cup a little bit too harshly against the counter.

"If you have something to say, say it." Zayn says, looking at Harry with eyebrows frowned.

Harry eyes widen at his sudden outburst, and he lifts his hands at his sides, flashing him a cheeky smile. "You don't need to get angry."

"I don't like when people stare at me," Zayn mumbles, turning his eyes away from Harry. "Usually they're thinking mean things when they do."

"I'm not thinking mean things," Harry replies, laying his cup of tea down. "I'm just– admiring you, I guess."

"Why's that?"

"Louis is my best friend, you know?" Harry says, immediately capturing Zayn's attention. "And it's been a long time since I've seen him so... carefree? Content? I don't know. Usually he locks himself here, surrounded by dusty books and endless stories and he never walks out of his shell. His bookshop means the world to him, and he doesn't care about anything else."

For some odd reason Zayn feels like someone just punched him right in the stomach. Harry's words sting more than he would admit, and he only nods at him. It's not like he was expecting something from Louis. God he doesn't even know why he's so disappointed. It's been a while since he felt something as strong as his feelings for Louis, and he can't even pinpoint what he's actually feeling. But he understands Harry words, and he can feel the taste of rejection on his tongue, like it's a special ingredient on Louis' muffin receipt.

"Maybe you're changing it on him." Harry finally says, taking another sip of his cup.

Zayn looks back at him quickly, his amber eyes wide at Harry's statement. "What do you mean?"

But before Harry can answer his question Louis is back, shaking Mrs. Calder's hand and giving her his farewells before he walks behind the counter once again. He's smiling brightly at the both of them, immediately motioning for his now cold cup of tea.

"She's one of my best customers," Louis explains, his eyes travelling from Zayn to Harry and back at the first one. "One of the only ones who pays me with actual money, that's it."

Both Zayn and Harry hum in acknowledgment before they fall silent once again, eating the muffins and just enjoying each other's company. Zayn glances awkwardly at Harry, and Harry looks at him with a weird expression, like he's trying to say something to him just with his eyes.

He has beautiful eyes, but Zayn doesn't understand a thing.

 

❀❀

 

Zayn hates falling on a routine. He's so used to travelling around, working on the most different places and always experiencing new things, new emotions. He's not used to sticking around in one singular place, growing fond of one particular person or just stopping somewhere.

But Silvervale changes him.

Every morning he wakes up on his tiny room and takes a quick shower before he goes down to the lobby and compliments Mrs. Horan, taking a cookie from her tray before he walks down to Louis' bookshop. He spends the majority of his morning there, reading or talking with Louis about nothing in particular. Sometimes they have lunch together, ordinary mac'n'cheese or some bits of fruit before he walks to Mr. Davidson shop, lifting boxes and carrying them around until the sunset, when he gets his payment and walks back to Louis' bookshop. Sometimes they have Harry's company, and some others they have customer's company but most of the time they're alone. Louis listens to Zayn's stories and Zayn watches Louis as he reads some old book. It's nice, and the bookshop feels like home to him even though he doesn't sleep in there.

In one of these afternoons Zayn is sitting by the curb right in front of the food shop, reading a book he took from Louis' shop earlier that day. It's a common thing now, reading books when there's absolutely nothing to do on Mr. Davidson shop, and he finds himself distracted by the world he's merged on, hypnotized by the tiny black words printed on the yellowish pages.

He's so distracted that he doesn't even notices Louis walking towards to him, his long hair swirling around his head with the soft breeze. He stops right in front of Zayn, casting a shadow upon his frame, and the man looks up at him with narrowed eyes, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Hi there," Louis says, sitting by his side. The soft fabric of his jumper rubs against Zayn's naked bicep, but he doesn't mind: the proximity is now welcomed. "What're you reading?"

" _The Hollow Man_ ," Zayn replies, showing Louis the book cover. "John is a genius."

"He is," Louis agrees, giving him a huge smile. "Hey, would you like to walk with me?"

"I'm working, Louis." Zayn explains, rolling his eyes at the man and taking his attention back to the book.

"I'm sure Mr. Davidson won't mind," Louis says, looking over his shoulder and shouting at the empty shop. "Right, Mr. Davidson?"

Zayn looks over his shoulder as well and watches as Mr. Davidson motions for them to go with a playful smile on his face. Zayn closes the book and hurries inside the shop to take his payment before he waves him goodbye and walks away with Louis, the sunset painting the streets and buildings with shades of orange and yellow. Louis doesn't say anything, and Zayn stays quiet as well as they walk for good twenty minutes, passing by empty shops and silent houses until they reach the outskirts of the small town, with tall trees making a natural wall separating them from the road.

Louis walks to one of the trees and sits beneath it, looking at Zayn with a reassuring smile. It's enough to make Zayn step closer, focusing on Louis' face as he steps closer and closer. His eyelashes sweep across his cheekbones now painted in a soft blush. The breeze is still making his hair bounce around, and the sun cast flecks of light across his face, accentuating his lashes, his cheekbones and his caramel-golden hair. And his lips, looking even more pink against the golden light. He looks like an unrealistic painting, a charming character from one of the books they both read so much.

When Zayn reaches him he leans against the tree and slips until he's sitting by Louis' side. The tree feels a little bit rough against the thin fabric of his white tank top but he doesn't pay attention to it. He focuses on watching the sunset and having Louis by his side. Mostly Louis, though.

"Do you like here?" Louis suddenly asks, his eyes fixed on the sky above them.

"Yes, it's a pretty nice view and–"

"I'm talking about Silvervale, Zayn." Louis cuts him with a roll of his eyes, not sparing a look at the man by his side.

"Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn't be here." Zayn says, giving him a weird look. "Why?"

"Don't know," Louis shrugs. "Sometimes I think about the stories you tell me and they seem to be so wonderful compared to _this_."

"They're not wonderful," Zayn whispers, turning so he can look at Louis properly. "They're never wonderful."

"It doesn't look like it."

Zayn sighs before he grabs Louis' rugged hand on his calloused ones. "Don't ever think that running around is wonderful, Louis. It's not. Not having a safe place or people who care about you it's not wonderful. I don't do this because I like it. I have to."

"And why haven't you run away from here yet?" Louis asks, finally looking at him with greyish blue eyes. His orbs look colder than usual, and the thing Zayn wants the most right now it's to kiss his closed eyelids.

"Because I think I've found something to hold on to." Zayn says, trying to put everything his feelings into these brief words. He doesn't know what he's feeling; he has no idea why he feels his heart beating faster or why his palms sweat so much when he looks at Louis sometimes. But he knows he must feel something for the man right in front of him, and he wants him to know that he feels. That he's important for Zayn.

That he's the only one who was able to make Zayn stop.

"I bet you never thought you would find it here in Silvervale." Louis replies with a soft smile, turning away to look up at the sky one more time.

"Never in a million years." Zayn says before he lets go of Louis' hands, turning away to follow his gaze to the sky.

They stay there until the sky turns black and the moon brings the stars to shine for them, both of them just enjoying each other's company and pointing at the weird formats the stars make. When they get bored Zayn takes the copy of _The Hollow Man_ from behind him and starts reading out loud, enjoying the weight of Louis' body against himself and his head against his shoulder. Zayn never had that kind of relationship with someone, maybe his family but besides them no one else. During the past few years that he spent running from town to town, from people to people and never sticking around or coming back he never had anyone as special as Louis. Special enough to make him stop and realize that he's been wasting his life in a miserable way. And Silvervale may not be the most amazing, exciting place but he feels safe around there. Maybe Silvervale it's his safe place, after all.

When it gets dark enough and the fireflies come out to illuminate their tangled frames the both of them stand up and walk to Louis' bookshop together. It's so late that Zayn decides to walk straight to the _Lost Arms_ instead of coming in as he usually does. When they finally stop between the front door of the bookshop and Zayn's motorcycle Louis turns around and give him a sad look.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you bet."

Louis nods before he turns around and grabs at the doorknob, opening the door of the shop slowly. Zayn stays there watching him with adoration on his eyes, one of his hands buried inside of his pocket and the other holding the copy of _The Hollow Man_.

When Louis jolts forward on his direction and wraps his arms around his waist Zayn's not expecting the gesture at all. He freezes for a moment, hands still hanging by his side as Louis keeps holding him close, breathing against his chest with closed eyes and red cheeks.

"Please take care."

The words have an immediate effect on Zayn. He takes his hand from his pocket and wraps both of his arms around Louis' shoulders, leaning his face against Louis' soft hair.

"I will."

 

❀❀ 

 

Zayn wakes up early that morning with the sound of his cellphone ringing somewhere in the dark room. His mouth hangs open in a silent yawn and he rubs his eyes before he climbs out of bed, looking for his phone in the dim light. He knows who's calling him before he even finds it lying under the bed inside of his combat boots.

"What do you want, Liam?" Zayn mutters hoarsely, walking to the window and looking down to the dark, empty street.

Liam is his only friend from his hometown. They grew up together, their families being great friends and it was inevitable for the boys to bond. Liam, just like everything and everyone, was left behind once Zayn ran away from his city. They still talk sometimes, and Liam was the only person Zayn bothered enough to give him his cellphone number.

He should feel special.

"Zayn? Where are you?" Liam asks in an urgent tone.

"Hum, why do you ask?" Zayn mumbles, scratching the top of his head.

"Zayn you have to come home as fast as you can." Liam says in a pleading tone, his voice sounding a little bit desperate.

That's enough to make Zayn wake up completely, turning away from the window. "Liam what happened?"

There's a pregnant silence where the only thing Zayn can hear are Liam's sobs and his frantic breathing. Zayn is getting more nervous by the moment, the tight grip he has on his cellphone being enough to knead the plastic a little bit.

"It's your sister, Zayn." Liam finally says between sobs.

 

❀❀ 

 

Louis wakes up expecting the sound of rain pouring above him, splatting against the thin roof and ruining some of his books again. He's sure he heard a thunder in the middle of the night roaring through the silent streets of Silvervale, but when he wakes up the sun is peaking from outside casting a pale gold light against the walls of his room and he accepts the light eagerly. He loves the sun, he loves the energy that he gets from it. It's like he's being bathed with positivity, and he stretches happily before he jumps from the bed, heading to the kitchen so he can put the kettle on the stove and prepare the usual two cups of tea he does every morning for him and Zayn.

He walks downstairs and lays a tray with large cups of tea and a little plate filled with cookies right above the counter. But before he can open the shop he goes upstairs one more time, taking a plastic bag full of trash from the kitchen bin and walking all the way out of the shop, ready to drop it on the dumpster by the curb.

It's really cold outside, even though the sun is shining brightly above him. He's just wearing a thin shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his bare feet sending shivers through his whole body as he steps on the humid pavement. The dawn fog it's just fading away when Louis looks right in front of him, looking at the empty parking spot in front of his shop and furrowing his eyebrows, confused. He looks around the street, stretching his neck and looking as far as his eyes can reach, but there's no signal of the old motorcycle that was there just yesterday. The old, big motorcycle that stood proudly right in front of his shop, almost rejected from its owner.

Louis doesn't have to look that much into it to realize that Zayn's gone. For good.

The man walks slowly to the dumpster, leaving his plastic bag full of trash inside of it and looking at both ends of the street with hopeful eyes, waiting for a loud exhaust noise to cut the silence and reach Louis' bookshop. He sits down by the curb, almost on the same spot Zayn's motorcycle remained for almost a month. It's cold outside and his bum freezes when he sits on the stone floor, but he doesn't care. He curls himself into a tiny ball, resting his thighs against his chest and wrapping his arms around his shins, resting his chin against his knees and looking down the street, waiting.

People walk by him and give him quick compliments. Others look at him with suspicious looks, wanting to ask what's wrong with him but deciding against it. Some of them ask him if he could help them finding some books, but Louis doesn't answer. He keeps his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the horizon, waiting for Zayn to come back on his huge motorcycle, smiling at Louis and enveloping him on his big, lean arms filled with tattoos. He waits until the sun gives up on him, taking its light away and being replaced by the paleness of the moon. It's just when Harry comes looking for him that he gives up himself, letting Harry wrap him in a tight hug and throwing his huge coat around Louis shoulders. He doesn't need to ask to know what's wrong.

When he finally walks back into the bookshop the place feels even colder than the freezing pavement. He breathes the smell of dusty books in as he walks between the bookshelves, the fluffy carpet almost massaging between his toes after a long day outside. He walks all the way to the counter, looking at the now cold cups of tea and the cookies surrounded by festive ants. He can't quite remember the last time he cried, but as the tears start to fill his eyes he can't help but feel like Zayn took away a piece of his heart with him. A piece of his heart and part of his story. Zayn was a main character on Louis Tomlinson's life, and then he was gone. It was like losing a limb, or a leg. Louis wondered how he would be able to function without him.

With these thoughts he turns his back to Harry and walks to his flat without a single world. He nothing but throws himself on the bed, burying his face on the soft pillow and looking outside the window, the moonlight now casting creepy shadows against his wooden floor.

He wishes he had woken up with rain instead of a broken heart.

 

❀❀ 

 

As Zayn stands right in front of his sister's grave he thinks about how he always knew that this would happen at some point. It was inevitable, a fact waiting to happen. Fate it's not fair, and Louis' voice rings through his ears, repeating the same sentence over and over again.

_Tragedy follows those who are the brightest._

The cemetery is empty, Zayn being the only one among the crypts and graves. The trees nearby are all naked, and the yellow dry leaves are flying softly in the wind. There's something that can't even be considered rain falling from the sky, thin teardrops that ghost against Zayn's skin like soft wet pecks. He's holding a bunch of red roses he took from Mrs. Payne garden, his tight grip making the thorns cut his flesh.

Zayn has been through this. That's not the first time he stands by a relative's grave, but just like the previous time he wishes that _this one_ is the last. It's hard to stand there alone, like pieces of his heart and a part of his story is now gone. It feels like losing a limb, or a leg. Zayn wonders how he would be able to function without her.

Suddenly he wishes that Louis was there by his side, holding his hand.

He leans forward and lays the bouquet right in front of his sister's grave, a lone tear streaming down his face as he reads her name carved against the cold stone. He curses himself for not being there with her, he curses himself for letting his nightmares be stronger than him and he curses himself for leaving her behind while he traveled around the whole country, escaping from that place but leaving her as hostage in a hospital bed. Trapped while he was free from this place, but not free from his memories.

He mutters a last _I love you_ silently before he walks away, dragging his feet through the huge maze of graves until he reaches the parking lot, climbing on the passenger seat of Liam's car. His friend is there, gripping at the steering wheel with a swollen face, looking straight ahead of him. The silence filling the car is palpable, and Zayn really wants to say something but he feels like a golf ball is trapped right in the middle of his throat. It's hard to breathe, like his body is betraying him.

"Where do you wanna go?" Liam finally asks, still not looking at Zayn.

"Home." Zayn immediately answers.

It's a dumb answer. He knows that he doesn't have a home. His home was destroyed a long time ago, along with his family, his dreams and a promise of a normal life. Maybe when he says 'home' he's thinking about Louis' cozy bookshop, or Louis' arms wrapped around him, holding him in place. Home can mean a lot of things, but none of them are here in his hometown. This whole place feels like anything but home.

"C'mon, let's get you home."

Zayn doesn't believe in Liam's words but he nods anyway, feeling the car take him away from the cemetery. He gives a last glance at the infinite sea of graves, and his eyes burn at the sight.

Not even all the sad stories can be beautiful.

 

❀❀ 

 

The days slowly turn into weeks, and the weeks slowly turn into months. Zayn has honestly lost count of how many months have gone by since he buried his sister's body under the earth, and since then he trapped himself on the guest room in the Payne’s residency, spending his whole days thinking about nothing in particular, looking up at the ceiling and just existing. Liam is a constant company, but most of the time Zayn doesn't acknowledge him. He's forever grateful to Liam and his parents for accepting him in and just taking care of him, but sometimes the pain it's too much. He lost two people he loved in a wicked, tricky move from fate: his sister and probably the love of his life. Silvervale feels like a fairytale made up inside his head, and sometimes he just feels like getting up and driving all the way back to the small town. _To Louis_. But he can't. When he's not trapped inside of the guest room, looking at the ceiling and thinking about nothing in particularly (but sometimes he _does_ think about a certain pair of blue eyes) he's taking care of some issues regarding his family. Since he's the last Malik left he just has to take care of everything: all the paperwork regarding his sister and his family in general, some bank related things and even some issues about his long ago destroyed house. He feels overwhelmed, surrounded by responsibilities, and he just wants to run away into a room full of books and read about other people's problems, not his own.

Zayn is snapped out from his thoughts by a soft knock on the door. He looks up and sees Liam standing by the door, wearing a plaid flannel and holding a box on his hands. Zayn mumbles something impossible to understand, and Liam takes it as a permission to walk in.

"How are you?" Liam asks, sitting by the end of bed.

"'m fine." Zayn whispers, eyes locked on the ceiling above their heads.

"No you're not. That's why I brought this to cheer you up."

"I'm not interested." Zayn says in a harsh tone, hoping that that's enough to make Liam go away.

"One of the nurses gave me this yesterday," Liam continues, ignoring Zayn. "She said she used to dress Waliyha in these gowns every day after they bathed her. I thought you would like to see them?"

For the first time in days Zayn's attention are fully turned to Liam. He sits up and looks from his best friend to the cardboard box lying on his lap. It's not a big box, and the thing looks completely fragile under Liam's palms, so Zayn takes it away from him and lays it on the bed, pulling the lid open and looking at the contents inside of the box.

There's nothing extraordinary. His fingers brush against the soft fabrics of the hospital gowns his sister used to wear while she was there, each of them in a different color. There's a white one, and a yellow one and a light blue one. All of them smell like the same: daisies and saline. He remembers the last time he went to visit Waliyha on the hospital, a large vase full of daisies decorating her bedside table and a tube attached to her arm, making saline run through from plastic bag right into her veins. It's not a pleasant memory.

He empties the box until the only thing left inside of it is a book. He looks down at the inside of the box with a puzzled expression, grabbing the book and turning it around on his palm until he can read the title. _The Rose and the Yew Tree_ , the cover says, and Zayn wonders what this book is doing along with his sister’s belongings.

"What is this?" Zayn asks with a trembled voice, raising the book so Liam can see it.

"Oh," Liam exclaims, a tiny smile flashing on his lips. "The nurse said it was the only book she had to read for Waliyha. She said she would read it every night to cheer her up."

"How could a book cheer her up, Liam?" Zayn replies, anger taking over him. "My sister was in a fucking coma. She's been in a coma for years now and the nurse thought that a simple book could bring her back?"

"Don't be so bitter, Zayn." Liam mumbles, taking the book away from Zayn's trembling hands. "It's not her fault."

"It's not like I'm going to forgive them just because they used to read some silly stories to my almost dead sister late at night hoping that she would magically wake up. They couldn’t save her."

"I know you're angry," Liam says, giving him a sharp look. "I can't even imagine how you feel but I do know that neither your parents nor your sisters would like to see you like that. They wouldn't like to see you wasting your life doing absolutely nothing Zayn. They would like you to live, to find love and–"

"I did find love," Zayn whispers, his eyes now burning with upcoming tears. "I did find it but now he's just a story from my past."

"And why's that?"

Zayn looks up at Liam with a blurred vision, gaping at him like a fish out of water. The truth is that he doesn't know the answer. He doesn't know why he's trapped inside of this room while he could be with Louis, filling his life with meaning. Of course he has to take care of some family issues, but he knows deep down that this is not the only reason trapping him there.

"I don't want to let them go." Zayn murmurs, tears now running freely across his cheeks.

"Who?"

"My parents. And my sisters."

"Zayn you can't blame yourself for what happened," Liam says in a low tone, laying the book on the bed next to them. "You can't prevent yourself from living just because you're afraid of leaving your family. You have to understand that you will never leave them because no matter where you go _they_ will never leave you. They're part of you, a part that's gone now but that doesn't mean they won't exist anymore. That doesn't mean they won't _matter_ anymore. You can't just sit here and watch your life go by because of a tragedy that happened years ago."

Zayn nods at his friend before he jolts forward, wrapping his arms around Liam and sobbing against his shoulder. It's been years since he doesn't cry like that, and he feels relieved as the tears fall from his face to Liam's shirt, wetting the blue fabric. Liam rubs his back in a soothing way, murmuring his words against Zayn's ear.

"Don't keep old bruises from healing, okay?" Liam whispers, earning eager nods from Zayn. "You deserve the best Zayn, and it seems like you have someone who could make you so _so_ happy. Someone who's willing to give you his best stories and keep you forever. Someone who, without a doubt, loves you as much as you love him."

"I love him," Zayn mumbles, his voice sounds weak and desperate. "I love him."

"I know you do," Liam says, patting against Zayn's shoulder. "So don't waste any more time sitting inside of this dark bedroom, okay? Go get him. Go get your so deserved happiness."

He waits until Liam is gone to grab the book that the nurse used to read for his sister every night. He never heard anything about _The Rose and the Yew Tree_ , not even from Louis, and curiosity takes over him. He opens the book and scans over the first pages for a hint about it.

 

**The Rose and the Yew Tree**

**_a novel by ~~Mary Westmacott~~ Agatha Cristie_ **

****

The original author's name is scratched with a blue sharpie. Someone wrote Agatha Cristie as if she is the original author. He doesn't know what it means, but he takes it as a signal. He remembers like it was yesterday the day he insulted _A Murder Is Announced_ and Louis got comically offended, stating that Agatha Cristie was his favorite author. He remembers how cute Louis looked while talking about this woman he worshiped so much, how his eyes would sparkle with joy and the smile on his face would seem impossible to break. Sometimes Zayn would make sneaky comments about her just to take the piss, enjoying how Louis would become so defensive, taking her side with all his will.

The paperbook copy of _The Rose and the Yew Tree_ it's the first thing he shoves inside of his bag when he finally starts packing.

 

 ❀❀

 

The sound of Zayn's motorcycle roaring through the streets of Silvervale is the only thing breaking the palpable, agonizing silence. Different from the last time he first arrived to the small town, this time the streets are bathed with sunlight and the weather is warm, with birds singing on the summer breeze and their whistles tickling Zayn's ear with a beautiful melody. There's sweat running down his forehead, mostly from the anxiousness he's feeling and not because of the heat, making his raven hair plaster against his skin. There's no wind to relief his skin from the burning sensation, the streets completely sultry, but he's not thinking about this. He's focused on finding the one bookshop he misses so much. The only _person_ he misses so much.

It's been only a couple of months, but the houses look as abandoned as ever, with cracks on the walls and silent as the dead of night. He remembers the last time he saw these streets, with women walking around with their children and busy men dressed in fancy suits running around to get to God knows where. He remembers how sweet Mr. Horan was to him, offering him fresh baked cookies and pieces of cake, or how good was working at Mr. Davidson shop, how he and his wife would treat him almost like their own son and give him fresh pieces of fruit during regular breaks. But the thing he misses the most is, of course, spending the rest of his days waiting by the counter of Louis' bookshop, reading old novels and sipping Louis' strong black tea. He misses admiring Louis' face while he reads, his blue eyes so focused on the book in front of him absorbing everything he could, sometimes smiling and sometimes blankly staring at the pages. He misses Louis' touch on his arms, the gentle brush of his fingertips against his palm and his kindness.

He almost throws up all the pieces of his broken heart when his eyes finally land on Louis' bookshop, silent and almost unnoticeable between the other brick houses. He drives right into the usual parking spot in front of the shop, his eyes wondering from the empty showcase to the closed window of the second floor, blocked by a black curtain.

Zayn turns the ignition off before he hops from the motorcycle, his feet almost boiling from the contact of his leather boots with the hot pavement. He looks around, clutching his much bigger bag tightly around his shoulders before he takes hesitant steps towards the front door. The first thing he notices it that the shop is more silent than usual, not even the books whispering mysterious stories from inside. But what makes his legs tremble and his whole being hurt is the sign hanging from inside of the glass square on the door.

It says _closed_. For the first time the shop isn't welcoming Zayn inside.

He feels a twisting feeling on his guts, desperate boiling on his veins as he marches to the door, gripping at the doorknob and twisting it one, two, three times. The door is locked, and no matter how much strength he uses or how much he pushes his shoulder against the door it won't open. He feels tears prickling his eyes, blurring his vision but he refuses to cry. He bangs his fist against the old, thick wood, with his forehead glued to the glass.

" _Louis!_ " He screams, still banging his fist against the door hoping to open a hole on the wooden surface. "Louis, _please!_ "

The despair taking over his body is similar to the feeling he experienced when he first saw Waliyha’s grave on the cold, empty cemetery. It's like reliving it all over again, losing someone important, losing an essential piece of his story. It's like a black hole forms into his mind, trying to suck the good memories away and forcing him to move on, to find new ones. Destiny isn't fair, just like fate. _Tragedy follows those who are the brightest,_ Louis' voice saying the same words inside of his mind over and over again. It doesn't make him stop from banging on the shop door, screaming for Louis to show up and just pick his pieces from the floor. He keeps banging his fists until some of the few residents of Silvervale start to pass by, looking at him with sad or pitiful eyes but not bothering to offer him kind words. They're just there, like the background characters they truly are.

He keeps banging his fist on the door until his skin starts to feel numb and his eyes empty. He rests his forehead against the door, taking deep breaths and sobbing against the hard surface. No matter how much he begs, how much he cries for the bookshop to give him the only thing he truly wants, the place will stay as quiet and empty. Suddenly he feels exhausted, broken-down, and helpless. His safe place doesn't feel like his safe place anymore.

"Zayn?"

He's sobbing so loudly that he almost can't hear the soft whisper coming from his back. He gulps at the voice, his eyes turning wide open and his legs trembling with anticipation. _It can't be_.

"Zayn?" The voice calls him again.

He turns around as slowly as he can, his red rimmed eyes falling over a man with caramel-golden hair, a face sculpted by gods with two blue gems instead of ordinary eyes. He's short, and he's wearing a simple grey shirt and a pair of old ripped jeans, a pair of worn out flip flops protecting his feet from the hot pavement. He's holding two paper bags filled with fruits and all kinds of food, and he's standing right beside Zayn’s motorcycle. There's a strange expression on his face, something like disbelief or fear, and he's completely frozen on the spot.

"Louis?" Zayn gasps, taking his body away from the closed door.

"What are you doing here?" Louis asks, taking some hesitant steps towards the bookshop. There's a key tucked on his tiny hands, and with some effort he manages to unlock the front door, stepping to the side and allowing Zayn in.

He expects to find the usual dusty surfaces and even more dusty books, with the dirty carpet leaving trails of dust as they walk. But there's none of that. Everything from the bookshelves to the walls and the ceilings are clean, shining and free of spider webs. Zayn was so used to the smell of mold that he almost coughs at the smell of pine and fresh flowers. _Flowers_. There are vases filled with wild flowers at every surface, from the top of the bookshelves to the small floppy tables and on the counter where Louis' spends most of his time. Everything is clean. Everything is new.

Everything is changed.

They both walk to the counter in silence, where Louis lays his bags full of purchases on and turns to look at Zayn one more time. His jaw is clenched, his eyes look like frozen oceans staring right into Zayn's amber ones, freezing the woods inside of them. His arms are not crossed, and his legs are not switching nervously. He's just there, standing in front of Zayn looking like a dream that turned into reality.

"What are you doing here, Zayn?" Louis asks, his voice sounding like a distant song on Zayn's ears.

"I'm here to tell you a story." Zayn says, breaking Louis' eye contact and turning his head to the side, looking at the book lying on the counter. _The Roses Grow Wild_ , the cover says.

"I'm not sure if I'm interested in your story." Louis simply replies, turning around and motioning for the door hidden by the curtains.

" _Wait,_ " Zayn pleads jolting forward and taking Louis' wrist on his big hands. "Please listen to me."

He can feel Louis tensing under his touch, his wrist becoming stiff trapped by Zayn's grip. Louis takes a deep breath before he turns around, looking at Zayn's miserable face and sighing at the sight.

"Say it."

It's like all the doors closed on the far corners of Zayn's mind suddenly open all at once. All the memories, all the secrets, everything starts to flood through his brain and he can contain the tears threatening to fall again. He never shared this part of him with no one else; he never told anyone the darkest part of him. He never let this Zayn come out, showing his deepest layer and revealing his worst anxieties.

"I came here to tell the story of a boy," Zayn says, his voice sounding so breakable, so _weak_. "The story of a boy who was so happy, who had friends and a family and a bright future. He had a promise of a bright life and good experiences. He was never haunted by bad feelings or touched by misfortune. But things change, and of course that changed to him as well. One day he was at his home with his entire family, having a good time as usual when suddenly everything went down to flames. All his memories, all his belongings, and all the people he loved the most. Everything was consumed by fire, a fire that until today he can't explain how it began. But it did, and he wasn't able to save anyone except of one of his sisters. He dragged her outside as the rest of his family burned, suffocated to death in a mess of fire and ashes. And there was nothing he could do. He left his passed out sister outside and tried to come back in, tried to save them. But the house was already crumbling, and he watched with wide eyes as the house was consumed by fire and heat, he watched everything collapse right in front of his eyes."

He spared a glance at Louis, and he was met with blue eyes full of tears, his bottom lip trembling between his sharp teeth preventing himself from making any noise or interrupting Zayn's story. His hand is now holding Zayn's one instead of the other way around, and he took another deep breath before continuing.

"He was ruined. He didn't have a family, his only sister was taken to the hospital in an irreversible coma and he didn't have a place to go. He was completely alone in that big, cruel world and he couldn't stay in that town anymore, filled with nightmares and bad memories. So, the boy decided to run away. He took all the money from his family and bought a bike, taking all his belongings and he just left. He didn't have a specific place to go or a goal, he just wanted to go as far as he could. He travelled for so many years, going from waiter to photographer and from thief until he stopped. He never had a reason to stick around, to stay in a place for long, but then he found one. He found a man that lived alone surrounded by books filled with stories and he knew that he was the one. He knew that he finally found the reason to stay, and he knew that that man would be his safe place, his happiness that he lost a long time ago."

Louis lets a strangled sob out and steps forward, wrapping his arms around Zayn's neck and burying his face on the black fabric of his shirt. Zayn immediately wraps his arms around Louis' slim waist, holding him as close as he can, feeling the tears run from his eyes to his cheeks and end up lost on Louis' messy hair.

"I'm sorry," Zayn mumbles against Louis' scalp, trying to keep up with his feelings. "I'm sorry I left. I just did because my sister passed away after years being in a coma and I couldn't just ignore that. I feel so bad because I was just a coward. I was a coward and I couldn't even be by her side when she needed the most, even though she couldn't acknowledge my presence. I just ran and left her behind, too afraid to see her die and then it happened while I was away. But mostly I'm sorry for leaving you behind and not telling you anything. I'm sorry."

"Oh Zayn," Louis mumbles, his voice wet with tears. "I'm sorry about your sister. Don't blame yourself for anything that happened okay?"

Zayn nods against the top of Louis head, and the blue-eyed man continues in a low tone. "It's true that I missed you so _so_ much. Every day I would sit by the curb waiting for you, waiting for the sound of your stupid bike or your stupid questions about Lewis. I would sit there every day just hoping that you would come back to me and make me feel safe again."

"I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel like this. I hope you haven’t felt half of my pain."

"I did. I was so hurt." Louis whispers, crying against Zayn's shoulder. "But now everything is okay.”

"I'm sorry." Zayn says again, giving a soft kiss to Louis' feather hair.

Louis lifts his face from Zayn's shoulder and looks up at him with puffy eyes and cheeks marked with tears. They stare at each other for a while, both of them feeling like they're living an unrealistic dream, and Zayn decides he waited long enough. With a gentle movement he moves his hand to Louis’ cheek, wiping his tears with a soft brush of his thumb before leaning down and pressing his lips to Louis' thin ones, hoping that this simple gesture it's enough to finally let Louis know how he feels about him.

It's not long before he gets a response, Louis pushing him even closer, kissing him back and swiping his tongue along Zayn's bottom lip. Their mouths move with such synchrony, sliding together in a soft pace. They're not desperate and they don't rush the kiss: they know that they'll have all the time of the world to kiss whenever they want.

"I think I'm in love with you." Louis whispers once they mouths part.

"I'm a hundred percent sure I'm in love with you." Zayn says, staring right into Louis' blue eyes.

The smile that Louis' flashes at him is brighter than fifty suns combined. His eyes crinkle at the very corners, and he leans his head against Zayn's chest, kissing his collarbones through the fabric of his shirt.

"Next time take me with you," Louis murmurs. "Please."

"There will be no next time, Louis."

"Good," Louis whispers, his blue eyes now shining with glee like the sun rises and sets right on Zayn's face. "Because I don't wanna go another day without you."

He buries his face on Zayn's chest again and they stay like that for a while, holding each other like they'll turn into fog and dust at any moment and fall apart again. Zayn knows it's impossible and Louis knows that this only happens in fiction, on those fantastic universes he enjoys so much every day, but they do know that nightmares can come true, both of them already experienced it, and as Zayn holds Louis tight against his chest with his warm breath washing his collarbones he decides that he'll do his best to keep Louis away from everything he fears.

But as they hold each other in the middle of that room surrounded by books he realizes that nothing can really happen to them as long as they stick together. And they will.

 

❀❀ 

 

"Zayn, can we help me with these boxes please?"

Zayn lifts his eyes from the copy of _The Enchanter_ and scans his eyes around the room. Louis is nowhere to be seen, so he gets up from the chair he's sitting at behind the counter and takes some steps towards the most distant bookshelves, the fluffy carpet tickling his bare feet softly. He walks by every corridor of bookshelves until he stops at the very last one, his eyes landing on Louis' petite figure holding two large boxes on his arms, standing right in front of an empty bookshelf.

"What are you doing?" Zayn asks, walking towards him and taking one of the boxes from him.

Louis looks sleepy on his pajama bottoms and a loose shirt (that probably belongs to Zayn), with his hair pointing everywhere in a mess of brown speckled with golden. He flashes Zayn a tiny smile, his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses with something Zayn can't quite distinguish before he opens the box he's holding, revealing it filled to the brim with the most different types of books.

"These are new books for the shop," Louis explains, taking one book from the box and placing it on the bookshelf. "Some of them are donations from people all over town, others are the ones who people buy here and then give it back."

"I didn't know that." Zayn says, taking a book from his own box and placing it on the empty bookshelf.

"Yeah, they're pretty nice people. Sadly some of them don't think like that and just throw them away. Like this one," Louis shows him a dirty, ripped cover of _The Hound of the Baskervilles_. He sighs before putting this one away instead of placing it on the bookshelf with the others.

"So you just go out there exploring other people’s garbage?" Zayn asks with a chuckle.

"Twat," Louis rolls his eyes at him in a fond way, turning to his box as well. "If you find damaged books please put them away with that one so I can repair them, alright?"

Zayn nods before they continue their task. It's not difficult, and they don't have a specific order for the books so the bookshelf turns into a mess of genres, authors and languages (Zayn even raises his eyebrows at the worn out copy of _Le Petite Prince_ in french he finds inside his box). Some of the books are too damaged to be put on display right away, so they pile them away in a chair behind them. For most people that would be a boring job but not for Zayn, especially when he has Louis by his side rambling about every book he takes on his tiny hands.

"Wait, not that one!" Louis suddenly exclaims, raising his hand as Zayn is placing another book on its place.

"Why not?" Zayn asks, retreating the book from the bookshelf.

Louis steps forward and takes the book from Zayn's hand, looking at the cover with a tiny smile. "I've always wanted to read _The Age of Innocence_ again. Mrs. Calder took my only copy before I could read it. It's been so long."

" _The Age of Innocence_ , Louis?" Zayn asks in a mockingly tone, with raised eyebrows and looking at the man in front of him with eyes full of adoration. Praise, even. " _Really?_ "

"Oh, shut up," Louis exclaims, hitting Zayn in the arm with the book. " _The Age of Innocence_ is amazing. It's so romantic and sincere. I don't know how to explain it really. The simple gesture of Ellen holding out her hand for Newland, with him shaking it instead of kissing it speaks in a whole level of intimacy."

"Well, in that case," Zayn says, reaching his hand and grabbing Louis' tiny one, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the back of it, brushing his nose against Louis' knuckles as he leaves chaste kisses across Louis' skin.

"You're such a sap." Louis whispers. Zayn looks up at him and finds him with flushed cheeks and shiny eyes. He smiles against Louis' skin, taking his mouth away from Louis' hand and lifting his own to caress Louis' cheek with his thumb.

"For you," Zayn murmurs, leaning forward and capturing Louis' lips with his own in a quick kiss. "I am."

Louis rolls his eyes and pushes him on the shoulder, shaking his head before he steps back and places the last books from the box on the bookshelf. Zayn watches him closely, finding it cute how the long sleeves of his shirt slide down every time Louis lifts his hand to organize something on the bookshelf, showing half of his arm. It's endearing.

"Finished." Louis tells him a while later, clapping his hands together to get rid of some of the dust from the books.

"That's good, because I have to go to Mr. Davidson shop right after lunch and–"

Zayn stops himself when an idea runs through his mind. His eyes get wide open as images of himself at Liam's house flashes before his eyes. He remembers of the box full of Waliyha's belongings he received from Liam, and the book that was inside of it.

"And?" Louis asks worriedly. "Are you okay, Zayn?"

"Y-Yes, I am." Zayn nods, placing one hand on Louis' shoulder. "Wait here, okay? I'll be right back."

Louis looks at Zayn with confusion stamped on his face as the man runs away from him and climbs the stairs to Louis' flat above the bookshop. It's not big: only a tiny living room with a small couch and two armchairs, a kitchen that they only use to cook (they always eat on the couch), a bathroom and a bedroom that Zayn and Louis share. He stops right in front of the bed he and Louis sleep on every night, the same bed that they always share lazy morning kisses and some private moments before he turns away and run through the place until he reaches his bag inside of his wardrobe. The bag is now empty except for a little book. _The Rose and the Yew Tree_. Zayn grabs the book and stumbles his way downstairs, walking fast to find Louis standing on the exact same spot where he left him.

"What is going on?" Louis wonders, giving him a weird look.

"I have a new addition to the shop." Zayn says, stepping towards Louis and lifting his hand to the man, handing him the book.

Louis looks at the book on Zayn's hands and takes it on his own, looking down at the cover for a moment before he lifts his eyes to meet Zayn's dark ones. He's looking at Louis a little bit apprehensively, waiting for his reply.

"What is this?" Louis asks.

"It was my sister's," Zayn explains, stepping closer to Louis until their tiptoes are almost touching. "Liam told me that the nurse used to read it for her every night because she thought it would help her to come back."

"That's beautiful," Louis smiles, looking at him with wrinkled eyes. "Really Zayn, that was so thoughtful of her. Why do you want to give it away?"

"I don't know," Zayn shrugs, shoving his hands on his pockets. "It's not a pleasant memory. She couldn't even listen to the nurse reading it to her, it's sad."

"I'm sure she could," Louis says, hugging the book against his chest and placing his other hand right above Zayn's heart. "Deep down I know that she was able to listen every single word the nurse read to her, and I'm sure she was so thankful for that. Your sister wasn't able to explore the world, but the nurse brought her a new one, and I'm sure she was so happy while she explored it."

"You think?" Zayn asks, his heart beating like crazy under Louis' palm.

"Absolutely."

Zayn nods, giving him a smile full of meaning before he closes the distance between them, slipping his arms around Louis’ waist and hugging him tight. His vision is blurry with a few tears but he tries to hold them back as he keeps Louis on his embrace. The man must feel how his body grows tense around him, so he lifts his face from Zayn's shoulder and cups his cheek with his free hand, kissing him passionately.

"Can I keep the book?" Louis whispers against Zayn's mouth.

"You can keep whatever you want."

Louis nods, rubbing his noses together and giving another peck to Zayn's lips before he wraps his hands around his shoulders and buries his face on Zayn's neck. "So I'm keeping you."

Zayn lifts his hand through Louis' back to massage his scalp, nodding at Louis' statement. It sounds like a promise, and it's enough for both of them. After all, Zayn is the only story Louis will ever need. And as Zayn wraps his arms tightly around this wonderful man, _his boyfriend_ , he realizes that Louis is by far the best thing that ever happened to him. He's his best memory, the best chapter of his life.

And hopefully he will be the last.

 

_Fim._


End file.
